“Where is he?” My voice echoes against the concrete walls.
Lorenzo nods toward the steel door at the end of the hallway. “Secured. Paulie’s with him.”
I roll up my sleeves methodically, one after the other. “How much did he resist?”
“Enough to earn the split lip he’s sporting.” Lorenzo falls into step beside me. “Fed tracked him down in Atlantic City. A one-way ticket to Argentina was already purchased.”
My jaw tightens. Argentina—where organized crime figures disappear when they need to lay low. Luca knew exactly what he was doing.
The door creaks open to reveal Luca Vega strapped to a metal chair, blood trickling from his mouth. His eyes widen when he sees me, then Lorenzo behind me.
“Boss, there’s been a misunderstanding?—”
My fist connects with his jaw before he can finish. The crack reverberates through the room.
“Three months ago.” I pull out the photograph Carmela found—Luca standing with a man outside the Sapphire Club. “You and this man. We’ve identified him as Alexei Tartarov’s nephew, Dimitri.”
I circle him slowly, letting the silence build. “Funny, because when Carlos told you about our meeting location, you called in sick. Food poisoning, wasn’t it?”
Luca’s face goes pale. “I was sick?—”
“Bullshit.” I slam the photo down on a metal tray beside him. “You fed our location to someone. The question is who—and why.”
“They have my family,” Luca blurts out, his voice cracking. “My mother, my sister—they’re in Moscow. Tartarov’s people grabbed them six months ago.”
I exchange a glance with Lorenzo. This is new information.
“Tartarov?” I lean against the wall, reassessing. “Not the Morettis?”
Luca shakes his head frantically. “The Russians. They approached me last year when I was visiting family in Spain. Showed me photos of my mother and sister. Said if I didn’t cooperate, they’d kill them both.”
I grab his throat, forcing him to meet my eyes. “And you believed them?”
“I saw the photos, boss. They had them. My mother’s apartment, my sister’s work—they knew everything.” Tears stream down his face. “What would you have done?”
The question hits harder than I expect. I think of Carmela, of how far I’d go to protect her. Of the choices I’d make if someone threatened her life.
I release him, my mind racing. If Luca’s telling the truth, then Tartarov’s operation is far more sophisticated than we realized. Infiltrating our organization by leveraging family—it’s exactly what I’d do.
“What information did you give them?” I demand.
“Schedules. Meeting locations. Shipment routes.” Luca’s words tumble out faster now. “But I swear, they told me they were Moretti associates. They wore crests, used the lion symbols, and spoke Italian.”
I circle behind him, processing this. “Well they weren’t.”
“I know that now,” he chokes out. “They played me.”
Lorenzo steps forward, his face hard. “Why should we believe you?”
“Because I’m telling you everything!” Luca’s voice rises in desperation. “Tartarov has people in both families. Not just ours—the Morettis too. He’s been feeding intelligence to both sides, making each family think the other is behind the attacks.”
The pieces start falling into place. The spray-painted crests. The obviously planted evidence—that Moretti cufflink at the crime scene. The attacks that seemed too perfect, too calculated to be genuine Moretti operations.
“How many others?” I ask quietly. “How many people in my organization are compromised?”
“I don’t know,” Luca admits. “Tartarov compartmentalized everything. I only knew my part—feeding information about Miami operations and Lorenzo’s schedule. But he mentioned having assets in Philadelphia, New York, even inside the Moretti organization.”
I pull out my phone, texting Fed:Need you in the basement. Now.
